Edmund Vance Cooke Poems

Did you tackle that trouble that came your way
With a resolute heart and cheerful?
Or hide your face from the light of day
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We called him 'Rags.' He was just a cur,
But twice, on the Western Line,
That little old bunch of faithful fur
Had offered his life for mine.
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My papa held me up to the Moo Cow Moo
So close I could almost touch,
And I fed him a couple of times or so,
And I wasn't a fraidy-cat, much.
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Here's a motto, just your fit--
Laugh a little bit.
When you think you're trouble hit,
Laugh a little bit.
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You may labor your fill, friend of mine, if you will;
You may worry a bit, if you must;
You may treat your affairs as a series of cares,
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'A Triplet of Quatrains.'
To deftly do what many dimly think;
To fund a feeling for the world to borrow;
To turn a tear to printer's ink;
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Kisses kept are wasted;
Love is to be tasted.
There are some you love, I know;
Be not loathe to tell them so.
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An ancient ape, once on a time,
Disliked exceedingly to climb,
And so he picked him out a tree
And said, 'now this belongs to me.
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You may tinker with the tariff and make some simple gains,
You may put on tolls or take 'em off, inducing party pains;
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The man who fears to go his way alone,
But follows where the greater number tread,
Should hasten to his rest beneath a stone;
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